Jesus the Wine Mom
by griffinmace
Summary: In a world where Jesus never floated back up to heaven. Lord, the talk show host, battles with his life of stardom.


Jesus looked at his reflection, like he had done every day before the show. Not an over-gelled hair out of place. Not a dust of coke lingering near his nose. He never had to get ready for the stage, it was the stage that had to get ready for him. The stage was eager.

Walking out of his room through a flurry of unpaid interns, underpaid writers, and overpaid actors, he began to push his way past the lights people, camera people, and cue cards. Heels galloped on the floor, mics buzzed with the next instruction.

It was first his right foot that broke a shadow across the stage floor. The audience became riotous. People were screaming, grabbing and shaking each other, jumping up and down. It was a wonder Jesus could hear anything at all anymore. He met this insanity with waves, twinkly eyes, and a smile as white as a crest ad.

As he paved a path across the stage, one sole at a time, he did his classic tie-straighten, knowing gaze at audience, and smile. With each movement, the commotion in the stands grew more and more hellish. Lights were blaring on him, and the thick layers of setting powder saved his sweat from beading.

It was always this immediate. Not just the show entrance, but everything he did. It always was in quick dramatic movements that made the days inane chatter turn into sensley static in his head. Why bother remembering what someone feels about the weather? Why bother remembering the weather? It was all so pedantic now. Another day, more faces to great, more hands to shake, more cartons of eggs to buys, more expired eggs to throw out.

Jesus's eyes burrowed into the audience for meaning, reason, anything. He was greeted with a frenzy. Letting his feet slowly take him to his podium, he kept his back to the crowd. Animals, he thought. They are all a bunch of animals.

After the audience cooed themselves from a frantic warcry into a small pet store, he decided to look right at the front camera, raise his eyebrows, and with that the show began. Each contestant entered, he asked them about themselves, they played the game, Jesus thought about how badly he wanted to rip the clothes off of a female contestant, showing it only in charming flirtations between breaks.

"And with that, I have to say goodbye." The audience awed, right on cue without anyone having to hold up a sign or flash lights, or give a semaphore signal. No, the people knew how to respond to jesus. The people loved Jesus.

"I'm sorry, guys," he caringly explained. "Even God has to take a day to rest." Laughter. Applause. Wrap. Then came the moment where the credits rolled, that stage hands called cut, and Jesus left the stage immediately back to his room. Another hour of his day gone.

He had a hard time looking anyone in the eyes for a while after he had finished an episode. He wasn't sure why, he didn't even realize it. It was only through the dressing-room mirror that he would briefly meet the eyes of his PA with small glances while he was making requests.

"No ice," he called out to her as the door waned over her small figure in the frame. He unloosened his tie and undid the buttons on his straight-jacket tight shirt. The rest of the night would be filled with many heavy sighs and wine.

Jesus put on his sunglasses and let the world fade into the tinged filter he saw. Moody. Mysterious. Dark. Gritty. An angel appeared snapped into the air beside his ear. "She knows you're on a bender." As the wings whipped back and forth, the angel shook his head like a cartoon character, being sure to express his full range of "disappointed father" emotions. To think I'm the one in show business, Jesus thought.

All his life, Jesus had to fight the urge to swat at him like a bug. "Life is a bender." Jesus began wiping the saturated makeup off the part so his face that weren't covered by his saucer-sized sunglasses. The more he beat his face, the more he was annoyed by the presence of the small pest. He always had to make an appearance right after the show, full of scathing looks and near-rude comments. Jesus paid little mind to what midwest mindset this fly was in, and began to wonder how many seconds until he could find himself alone again.

"I don't think you've even checked your hotline once today, let alone this week!" hearing Buzz say the word "alone" again made Jesus ache for the times when he could be still. "You're always concentrating on how to get high and never on how to lift others up." Buzz heard himself and wanted to gag. He sounded like a piece of wall art from the clearance bin at TJ Maxx.

"Doing drugs isn't a sin." Jesus said. To drive that point further, he took out his pinky nail, manicured sharp and long to look like a carpenter nail, and took another bump. He felt heavenly. Synapse after synapse surged and seized inside of him.

The PA reentered the room, pitcher full of water, a glass already poured halfway. She set it down in front of Jesus, who examined his nails. The PA didn't see the angel. The PA had he own shoulder gargoyles to worry about. It seemed as though right now she was fighting her angel and her devil. Both wanted her to leave this job. Neither knew how to do it best, but had many ideas.

"Here you go." She said as it softly clinked onto the vanity table. Jesus mumbled what could resemble a thankful groan. He was impressed with how long she had stayed, though. It was longer than most, even if only acutely. Jesus wasn't hard to care for. Everyone else already had exactly what Jesus wanted, day in and day out, ready to go at the drop of a hat. It was the pressure of working for Jesus and being around Jesus that made people go batty and leave so abruptly.

She shuffled out and clicked the lock behind her. Jesus went pack to wiping the make up off his face, raising his shades just to clear the areas beneath them. Under the rims were dark circles from late nights and early mornings as the son of God. "You look sickly," gasped Buzz. "A human body isn't meant to be treated like this day after day."

Jesus tossed his wipe quickly into the trash bin and got up to leave. He grabbed his purse, his fur coat, and slid into his fancy slippers. Immediately outside the door, his driver was waiting. Some days the driver, Geoff, could wait up to 4 hours. Today he was blessed. With a frantic sigh, Jesus nodded at him and coached him to follow in the fast paced walk that would classify as a jog if he weren't strutting so much. Just before leaving the door he donned a large floppy hat and briefly entered the world between the studio and the car.

Only the most fanatic fans knew exactly what Jesus looked like when going into the outside world. The even nuttier stood there waiting. He has many insane fans. Several bodyguards rammed into the crowd just before, beside, and behind Jesus, parting the groups like the sea. Jesus did coy waves and half hid behind all this costuming until he was to the door of the car and safely tucked in. Many days it took up to an hour to leave the lot. Because of the unusual timing, Jesus was in luck. Fewer fans meant less fights outside meant faster ride home.

Jesus had a rotation of homes he went to. The more time he spent at one, the easier it was for everyone to find him. Though he had helped choose what each looked like, where they were, and what covered them from wall to wall, no where on earth felt like home to Jesus. This was something he often felt void of. He knew, because everyone kept reminding him, how special and lucky and magical he was. He knew he was considered a blessing and should feel as though his life was one. He knew these things, not because he felt them, but because he was told them.

Each room smelled like they had been sprayed with several cleaning supplies weeks ago. Jesus couldn't remember the last time he set foot in this place. Last August? Before then? It was all a blur. It was clear that people were keeping up with the cleaning and the plants. Everything else looked as though it were from a model home, arranged just to make you feel like you could live in it.

The TV came on with a buzz. The last person to watch this had it on a spanish speaking channel that happend to play "What Would I Do?" With ferocity, Jesus flipped to his favorite channel. It was time for the show the "Devil's Advocate," a talk show where people discussed their opinions on Jesus. Not all of them were Satanic. Not all of them believed what they were saying. Sometimes TV just made you have opinions so you seemed like you had thoughts you needed to share.

Jesus didn't care much about what they said, he found it amusing. He used the TV as every family does now, as inane white noise to keep you from interacting with people or things around you wholly and fill the void with static. He began to chop organic vegetables he found in the prestinley stocked fridge for his power-hour slam-smoothie he made after every show. Lots of kale. Lots of love. Little fish oil.

The hosts of the show were currently doing live coverage of the exact outfit Jesus just wore from the studio to the car. Cycling between a few blurry and poorly taken photos from just moments earlier, the heads kept talking and Jesus kept chopping. "The coat is a little extra. I mean really, do you expect me to believe that that isn't real fur?" Sarah, a co-host on the show, touted. "You really think the son of God would wear faux anything!? Puh-leezus, Jezuz."

A small live audience laughed very hard at her joke. The catchphrase appeared in a hashtag caption at the bottom of the screen. This happened twice every 15 minutes. Jesus had once searched this hashtags and saw several humorous comments about past outfits he had worn while escaping his show to find his small bit of sanity.

"Ugh." A devil burst from flames on Jesus' shoulder. "I can't believe you pay money for this channel. Shouldn't you be all knowing and already all-know exactly what's going to happen on this show at every moment?"

"Sometimes it's fun to see it in the now." Jesus responded. The blender whurred as it made a holy cocktail for our lord and savior. "Keeps me fashionable." They were right about the coat, he thought, bit disappointed they missed the leather purse, though.

Harp sounds filled the apartment, warning Jesus that either a package was being dropped off or the decoy limo didn't work and some fans followed him to this apartment. "Just leave it," Jesus said over the intercom, assuming the best in that it was actually just a delivery man. More buzzing, this time in a bit of a pattern. "Who is it?" Jesus called. No answer. More buzzing.

Fans, he thought, must just be fans. Jesus held his phone, dialing 777, the special number that was just for him in emergencies as he approached the camera for the door. He was expecting a few fans with a few signs or baskets or something lavish and also somehow diminutive for him. What gifts could they give him? What could he want?

On the other side of the peephole wasn't a fedex man or a flock of boys and girls waiting to storm and siege this castle. It was one ordinary looking woman, arms crossed in front of her, closed mouth smile, sheepish eyes. "Who is it?" He called again.

"Ehmm. My name is Laura." She jumped and straightened her skirt.

Jesus stared back at this soft girl through the heavy door separating them. "I think you have the wrong house," he called back at her, taking a long sip of his drink. The sharp tangy from the limes curled his taste buds and slipped down his throat with ice and powders and all sorts of vegetables and fruits. He wondered why his father would choose to live a life without a mortal body. He had been both spirit and body, so he could say with certainty that corrupting the body with mortal pleasures felt so much more electric than corrupting the spirit.

Of course his father did neither. Maybe it was a lack of knowing the feelings, or maybe it was knowing the feelings all too well.

"This is, uh," she felt stupid, she knew she shouldn't have tried. Laura began to fight herself mentally while she struggled her sentences out. "This is the lord's house, right?" Looking around she found herself surrounded by lush trees that coated the land so densely she wondered if she would be heard if she screamed. What if this was the wrong house after all?

Jesus pressed his cornea as close as he could to the small dome of glass that showed him the outside world. It exaggerated the visitor and the property like a fish bowl. He found this humorous and wondered what the outside of the bowl looked like to fish.

A long silence spread between the two of them. Finally Laura spoke up,"It's just that…." with each vowel she found her voice disappearing. She started again "I just wanted…" her vocal cords cracked against each other like a child playing a cello for the first time. "I'm sorry, this was stupid, I'll leave."

Laura paused in the doorway, wondering if that line worked in the real world like it did in the movies. After giving the correct amount of seconds to wait, she sighed, turned, and left the porch, slowly letting each foot mock her on the way to her car. Jesus' straw sucked into the void at the bottom of his drink.

"You know, you're still allowed to do miracles." Buzz said.

After waiting for someone to grab the glass from him, Jesus realized he was completely alone. That was what he requested and so that was what he got from the houses. He knew he was being monitored by cameras, but he was the only living thing besides Laura in about a mile radius. Funny how he never felt alone at the right times, and always at the wrong ones.

"I'm not allowed to bring anyone back to the house." Jesus replied. "You know that."

"But there aren't any rules against letting someone in if they find the place." Buzz whined.

Jesus was annoyed. He just wanted a few moments to rest before he had to go and save the world again. "Well too late now. If she really needed me, she should have prayed like the rest of them." After having to rinse his own glass, he placed it in the sink for the inevitable cleaning crew at the end of his brief stay here. "Not everyone gets what they want just because they stalk someone."

He didn't mean to be harsh, he didn't blame Laura at all, he just wanted Buzz to have his jaw wired shut, or spontaneously become a mime or a mute or drop dead. He repeated his mantra to himself "love is patient, love it kind" over and over again in his head. It was the only thing keeping him from fraying his last thread. He was scared of himself. Jesus had great self control, but he feared for a day when he would completely snap.

Jesus had wished that he could do something. He knew he could do something, should he choose, but the times were different. Back in the golden days, Jesus could do a miracle left, right, no problems. Day after day he would be able to show off his magic tricks. That was his favorite part of his whole life. That was when there was barely even 10 people on earth. None of them could even read. They thought that fire was basically a miracle. But now, pft, forget it. Fire was easy, and there were even fire places with fake fire, because real fire was too hard to maintain and now humans had the luxury of miracles any moment they wanted one. They never came to Jesus to light a candle. They only ever came to him now with annoying things. Sure, he could cure polio, and yeah he can make you walk, and what's leprosy to a God? Cure. Cure. Cure. Easy.

With modern medicine, it seemed like Jesus was hardly needed for that anyway. He had become just an icon, a symbol of hope of his TV show. People waited to hear what he might endource and what he might disavow. The producers didn't like that. The producers wanted him to stay neutral for the sponsors. It wasn't good for ratings to pick a side on anything. Now was not the time to be political, what, with the world crumbling away and all.

"Those shoes aren't even this season," said a shrill woman from the TV, bringing him back down to earth. "You have the whole world in your hands, but what is on your feet!?" All the geese women that sat in the circle together, bashing God, began to honk at each other, each one competing over whose laugh was worth the most air time, who did the audience like the best? The truth was they were all equally easy to hate.

Jesus looked down at his favorite slippers. They were worn, but not dirty. Lived in was the right phrase. He loved these puffy little clouds. They reminded him of the womb. The TV continued cackling at itself. The image of him still blared on the screen, and he didn't recognize anything about himself but the shoes. They are lucky, he thought, that I chose not to wear my robe.

"Why couldn't I," he spoke out loud, but mostly to himself, "have been another deity? Hmm?" The silence in the room was piercing. Nothing. "Why," he began again "christianity? Why not Greek mythology, hmm? They got to have lavish parties. They could fuck all the people they wanted."

An inaudible gasp from the world sucked the air out of the room at the sound of profanity. Everywhere in the universe, people had a quick pange of unease, not knowing the cause or culprit. Babies cried. Normal animals did nothing. Pets darted their vision into the air. Humans suspected ghosts in their houses. They weren't entirely wrong.

Buzz stammered "They also raped a lot, and probably had venereal diseases." The little red imp next to him nodded knowingly, proudly.

"Why do I have to be a host on a tv show at all if I don't get to live the life style. I don't get to go out. All the people I meet are purely business connections or people who want something from me. Where is my slice of fun. All I get to do is make fish?" Jesus felt his rolex heavy on his hand. He saw the exorbitant decor shrouding the room. "Why don't I get to make anything more fun? What about computers? Phones? Or what about art, writing?" He fussed with the sink, and poured himself a glass of water to help calm down.

The silence thickened. The world continued back on, each person living their life again after the small disrupt, but not without great unease. The dogs had a hard time resting their heads back down. The cats were able to fall back asleep easily, but had to shift their weights around, knowing something was making them uncomfortable. The babies waited until eventually they forgot they were upset at all.

Jesus pushed the tip of his finger into the undrank glass in front of him. Like blood, an aura built starting from the tip of his finger until it sank to the bottom of the crimson glass. The window just beyond his vision, with trees spreading for all the eye could see into a thick forest. It was there as a way to keep his solitude. The small forest is all he had to separate him from the rest of the world.

Each of the other houses were identical, lots of land to make a moat for the house. Each house was so unassuming that you wouldn't know it's there. Apart from a small dirt path carved by the tires of cars, you would think that it was just a lovely break of nature from the dense urban sprawl. Jesus needed his sanctuary.

Buzz tried to find a good reply for God. He was a bit nervous. He wasn't any good at rhetorical questions, he was always trying to find solutions. That's not what rhetorical questions wanted, though. They wanted silence. They wanted deep, soul stirring thoughts. They loved problems more than they ever cared for solutions. He knew this wasn't his realm, but he also knew it was his duty to keep the son of God on a path.

"The people need you as a host. They need to see you in a place of control. Leave the parties to others, that is their life." He saw the cogs turning behind Jesus's brown eyes. "That is not yours. You've been spoken for. You have a different path."

"I want," Jesus vocalized "to speak for myself."

The water in the glass was now as thick as wool, a shade of red so deep it was almost black. Jesus swirled it around in the glass. Legs. The liquid formed a mini whirlpool in the glass, until the son of God squeezed tightly on both sides of the glass, shattering the cup completely.

The shards chimed to the floor, some slicing his skin before their fall.

"Oh dear." Buzz whimpered. "You're shaking."

Jesus's hand, red, with his long nail, and hole in palm, was hard to tell what was blood and what was wine.

Tension stayed thick in the air, only growing more tangible from the moments after he sweared. Each second made the atmosphere feel more and more dense. Clouds grew grey in the sky, each shifting cloud swapping lightning flashes back and forth like a shady drug deal. The storm brewing was something Dr. Frankenstein would have had wet dreams about. It was unlike anything the Kraken had ever seen.

New browns, violets, reds and blacks that had never been seen by man before were spreading vastly across each rupturing cloud. Lightning paved its way between the brooding sky, new puffs formed out of each cloud, like smoke breaking from fire. The waves heaved with heavy grunted breaths, tossing boats and swimmers alike up and down, thrashing with fervor and energy that mortals seldom saw. Each crashing tide was as white as God's sclera. Rods of pure energy flashed from the clouds and broke into the salty waters.

Jesus swatted at the sprite on his shoulder, finally. It felt good to clear the air. "I want," Jesus resumed, "to have a winery."

The entire world paused for a second. Expecting almost everything but that, the clouds make a fast change, growing light and spreading far apart to let the sun back in. Each ray shined with a tenacity, radiating far and wide. It became the most normal and beautiful day. Birds rang out their familiar song with a bit more pep and zeal than usual. Everything carried on as normal.

Buzz, now recovered after being swatted at, was still in shock the announcement. Had he heard him right? The imp beside him began to clear out his ears. Looking at each other, they both agreed on one thing, for the first time. They must have heard him wrong.

"What was that?"

Jesus straighten his spine, now with even more confidence and attitude than before. "I said," he tossed his hair. "I _want,_" hair toss. "A winery."

Dead silence.

"In the countryside." He added, becoming somehow both more and less sure of his idea as the nanoseconds ticked away. "Up the coast. Somewhere… cute."

The Imp, Beez, couldn't see anything wrong with that, but more annoyingly, he couldn't see anything right. It was hard to make an impulsive decision about reeking havoc on the world when there was no havoc to be found.

"Probably organic." Jesus stated this with a third and final hair toss, like the period at the end of a sentence. Beez and Buzz both floated next to the Lord's head. Each of them wondering what exactly could be going through it. Clearly not much.

"Wine?" Buzz asked again.

"Yeah." Putting much emphasis on the "a" and "h" sounds, Jesus rinsed his hands under the faucet, cheekily turning each drop of water that flowed out of the spout into puddles of pinot grigio. Once his blood stopped flowing and clotted the wounds, he spryly sashed to his laptop.

"I just wonder what's available now." Click click click. "Oh look." He noted. "Everything." Click click click click click. "Done."

Jesus bought a cute few acres of Tillamook, very close to the famous cheese factory. "It will sell itself." He giggled. With a few more clicks Jesus decisively shut his laptop. He gathered his few things he brought with him, and turned the TV off. The cameras monitoring the house flashes small red lights. Maids were waiting to ripple into the apartment and clean for a total of 3.8 minutes.

Two beeps came from outside. "Must be my ride." He said. With gaiety and a new found meaning, Jesus carried his things, looking at his new life in the woods like a 20-something girl entering manhattan for the first time. Mental musical numbers now. Mental breakdowns later.

Once finding the car, Jesus closed the back door to the car. "To Tillamook." He punctured. In the front seat was not Jesus's driver. He quickly realized that this wasn't his car at all. It was a 2004 Toyota Camry. The seats were lined with fast-food bags and the small tree hanging on the rear-view mirror smelled more like stale farts than the new car Jesus was used to.

No, in the driver's seat was Laura, who was currently stunned, at first by the intense and bipolar weather changes, and now shook that the back seat of the car she named Bessy contained a man who was born in a manger. The very same man who she had seen in nativity seens, nailed on crosses, and pixelated across frequencies all over the nation. This was him. The great "I am."

Jesus, high, and not looking for answers, but rather solutions, repeated "Tillamook." Laura took great pause, looking at her surroundings. She wasn't prepared to actually see God. It was more of a wild fantasy that she acted on. She was the only one who didn't get lost trying to follow him. She felt like that would have been all she needed. Laura now realized how vapid her life must really be to plan to follow a man home with no plan afterwards. This was what serial killers must do, she thought. They must get so overwhelmed by the success of finding people that the only next logical goal they can accomplish, the bar that is set unfathomably high, is to destroy the life that they found.

Bessy purred awake, hardly moved by the great storm. The wipers swiped the remains of what could have been the end of the world away to the ground where they turned to a red-earth mud. "Hand me my map." Laura said.

It was a long expanse of land before Laura broke the pregnant silence. It's your car, she thought to herself, you can just let him out. You can pull over. You're the one driving. She looked at model Jesus in the mirror with the sides of her eyes.

He was starring blissfully out the window, seeing the world created for him pass by. He felt both invigorated and calm. This new life was going to be so zen. Jesus turned to the front and Laura darted her eyes away, starring out the window in a panic she hoped said that she had been looking out the window the whole time.

It's your car, Laura reminded herself. You bought it with your own money. So what if you're the third or fourth owner, Bessy is your car. Laura blinked. Jesus blinked. Bessy sighed the car radio on.

Laura found the oldies to be a relaxing tension break and turned the dial down a little more so that maybe she could speak. "So what's in Tillamook?" She quizzed, never feeling more like a cab driver.

Jesus hummed "Oh, a cheese factory, trees, probably some cows, and just some land I own." It felt really good to say.

Okay, he owns land. That makes sense. Laura cleared her throat a bit. "Don't you own all the land?" She jested.

Jesus turned this though over in his head. "Yeah," sigh "I guess I do." He boasted a bit. "I guess I do own all the land, don't I?" His mind was almost putting together what a bad idea it was to buy so many acres from the internet when he could just have easily claimed it. Almost. The thought never came to fruition.

Most thoughts of his didn't. Many of his thoughts, however, did ferment and get better with age, time, and maturity, as most of our thoughts do. Jesus was still fermenting an idea to have a pet mouse that he kept in a doll house named Cheesus. Still fermenting. He wasn't sure how long he was going to keep that one brewing until he was very sure it was ready. He knew that it could be any day now. Seeing as his life had felt so lonely in the company of people and so noisy in the absence of them, maybe a pet is just what he needed in his new villa in the countryside.

"So do you have a house or…" Her thoughts trailed off. Were these dumb questions? Was Jesus used to depth out of the gate, or was it proper to wean into full discourse with mundane conversation like this.

Jesus didn't know what the property had. "Well, I'm a carpenter, so." Jesus meant this to be a potential solution to a house-less tract of land. Laura took this as an insult to her intelligence.

"Oh, right, of course." Silence fell between the two of them again as Bessy sang out Electric Light Ochestra's Mr. Blue Sky. Laura turned the dial back up. She loved this song.

"Ugh, I love this song." Jesus said, shaking the tension of small talk off with this remark. He turned his attention back out the vast world flying outside his window.

"Me too." Laura said. Laura wondered what Jesus's favorite song was.

"This is like, probably my favorite song." Jesus sighed. Laura liked it quite a bit too. She eased a bit, letting her fingers work from their nervous frenzy of rhythmic tapping into light and playful drumming with the music. Jesus swayed and hummed.

Laura kept thinking in her head that no matter what happened, she could not kill the son of God. That wasn't her. She didn't want her story to end like that. Jesus' story didn't end like that. Jesus was killed by many many people at a time, not just one lucky bored woman who needed something to do on a weekday. Jesus had only been killed in an epic betrayal, by an entire civilization of people he had deemed at allies, friends, saints. Laura remembered the clouds from before. The world now flowed by her in a charming palette, reminding her of color saturated films from the 70s, where people were tanned by chemicals during development and the skies seem bluer than was ever possible in the real world.

The rubber of Bessy's tires met the near-dry cement of the road in the same mindset as Jesus. This was a new adventure, for both her and Laura. She couldn't remember the last time Laura had actually gotten out of the house to do more than groceries, go to work, or any of her other daily routines. Laura needed something fresh and thrilling in her life. The sunset was now greeting them, sky in a lush color. Each cloud a pink finger stretching vastly to try to embrace the great burning star.

"I have to pee." Jesus said. This was the first conversation topic that arose since the pair of them started to depend on the oldies for words to fit the worlds between them. And on the seventh day, the restroom, Jesus laughed to himself. Jesus loved himself just as much as his fans did. How could you not?

Ah. The son of God pees, Laura thought. Of course he does. He's human, right. Part human? Part… Well, of course he still pees. "I actually could use a break too." Bessy lead them down to road to a Sinclair station that wasn't far away. Jesus made sure to take a few selfies with the plaster dinosaur lawn decoration perched before the sprawls of concrete.

After relieving herself, Laura noted that there was a small diner across the way, placed there either very whimsically by Jesus or very practically by the people around here who seemed to only make money off of drive through traffic of roadtrippers and truck drivers alike. She couldn't tell. She really didn't know what Jesus was capable of. Jesus, himself, didn't know either.

Jesus was already perched in the back seat, applying filters to his photos, becoming more annoyed rather than eager at the long, long journey to get to the adventure ahead of him. Laura looked in at him. She wondered how long he had been waiting.

"Are you hungry?" She finally said, pushing her head in through the opened window. She looked at the chrome siding, rusting near the bolts. The neon sign screamed "promised land" to her pavlovian mind. Neon equal food. Food equal good. Food equal now.

"Mm." Jesus politely gave. He never felt hunger. He had been trained not to. He did not that it had been over 6 hours since his super-duper-exorcise-the-demons-juice so he, technically, was hungry. "I guess."

Laura pulled her head out. "Okay then." Waited a few beats. Jesus raised the contrast a bit. "Well, how about there?" She motioned towards the diner.

This was the first Jesus knew about this dinner, just so coincidentally balancing the world together across the way. "Fine," he sighed, saving the draft of his photo, exiting the car to the high-fructose colored establishment.

Jesus sat with great heft across from Laura. He noted her classically mousy hair, her classically rimmed glasses, and her classic sheepishness. Laura studied the menu. She kept in mind how cheese made her feel, how diners can't be fully trusted to fully cook any meat, especially not enough for a medium rare burger or steak. What kind of a diner even had steak? Was that a lobster tank in the corner?

Buzz peered out from Jesus' mink collar just enough to whisper into the Lord's ear. "Ask her what she does."

"So what do you do?" Jesus said it as more of a statement, crossing his arms giving a cheerful grin.

"Mm?" Laura quickly glanced up from the caviar a la carte options. "Oh. I do some kind of desk work somewhere." Did she want escargot?

How typical and classic of her, Jesus thought. This poor girl has never seen anything. The waitress came around, pen and pad in hand. She said her line "What can I get for you two?" and looked up to give her trained smile, only to find Jesus and some nobody at her diner in bum-fuck nowhere. Her jaw dropped to the floor.

"I think I'll have the turkey club, no milt," Laura said, shifting her eyes back and forth between Jesus and this stunned woman. To think only hours earlier she was in the same null mindset. Holding her menu out, she hoped to snap the woman out of her state. The woman gawked.

"I'll have a coffee."

"You're Jesus." She said. Laura's hand still clutched the menus, which weighed more and more as time passed. How did time add so many ounces to everything. She jostled her hands a bit. The waitress was still stunned. Laura held her the menus for so long, shaking them back and forth like a nutribullet, with no avail. She began poking the waitress with the menus. No response. Call it. Time. 9:26. Cause for death: Witnessing her maker.

Jesus grew agitated by the swaying menus. Laura had clearly never been with an Alpha-list celebrity. He snatched them both and shoved them under the poor waitress's arms. He grabbed the pen and pad and scribbled down "coffee, club, 86 fish spunk." Ripping the paper off, shoving it in the flap of her teal and white striped apron that had to be at least 30 years old and ten years older than she was, she pointedly clicked the pen, tucked it in the large pocket and then gave her bottom a quick slap.

The waitress hoped to and went to the kitchen, never closing her mouth. When she got to the small window that exposed too little to see the food but too much to know that you didn't trust the people making the food. A large man with thick greasy hair unknowingly grabbed the order from the waitress.

"The fuck?" The man looked up and other at the table, now awkwardly the center of the universe. Jesus turned back to him.

"No milt." He said. "It means no milt."

"Club don't got milk."

"MILT. M-I-L-T."

The man's eyes darted from the paper to his grill back to the man in the booth who was too posh for this world. Taking a deep breath, he went back to working at his station, all the while wondering what milt was and why the menu suddenly changed for the first time in half a century. No one told him, head chef Rudy. No one ever told him nuthin'. "The fuck is milt, anyway." He grumbled and went back to frying eggs, becoming the caricature that he was. Not much moved Rudy. Not even Jesus himself.

Laura wondered the same thing when she first read the word on the menu. She wasn't one to take risky food chances unless it was the only polite thing to do. Had she known Rudy was going to make such a fuss, maybe she would have tried whatever milt happened to be.

Jesus sighed. He let the bad vibes flow out of him, remembering his mantras from yoga. This was going to be one of the few times he was able to eat normal food. He couldn't remember the last time he had a dish that wasn't 5 stars. He didn't know if he had ever had a dish that was less than three.

"So. Desk work." He continued. "Must be pretty drab."

"Eh. It pays the bills." Laura had chewed the smiley whites off of each of her finger nails, and she wasn't sure what to fiddle with next. Maybe her toe nails could use a trim. She shook her head with disgust and started picking at her hangnails. "Lots of time to think."

"Mm."

"I mean, it's nothing like what you do."

"Eh."

"I mean. You're, like, a TV star, a director, athlete, singer-song writer, and like, I don't know…"

"Son of God."

"Yeah, that. You're, like, everything."

"It appears so."

Matilda, the waitress, stood by the food window, eagerly fanning herself, ready to deliver unto Jesus the food as fast as it came out. Laura looked around at the rest of the establishment. It was minted in time, except for the few flourishes here and there, like an espresso machine no one seemed to know how to work, an iPad checkout system that didn't have a plug to hook into, the lobsters, tangoing in their tank, who were more confused about being there than anyone else was.

"I mean, wow, your life must be so exciting, what with the mansio-"

"Okay, sweetie, can I be honest with you." Jesus justiculated to the woman across him. Laura swallowed her spit.

"Everyone always thinks that the flash and glam keep you going, keep you buzzed, keep you living on the seams at all times. They see the roller coaster tabloid and they tune into my show, but in the long run, everyone else feels more about me than I have ever felt in my life. I don't give a shit if I'm here today, gone tomorrow, queer today, steer tomorrow, yadda yadda." Jesus' face grew flush. Jesus began to clap to enunciate his words with his body now instead of just his painted mouth. "I've tried it all within my means just to taste whatever forbidden fruit you humans seems to gobble behind closed doors and I. Don't. Feel. A. God-"

The water in their glasses rippled.

"Damned-"

The California fault line never felt more apparent.

"Thing."

Everything rumbled for several seconds. Matilda was completely unhinged, a crash came from behind the kitchen window, and the earth rumbled. This lasted for the longest 30 seconds in history of time until Jesus took a drink of water, it purpling when touching his lips. After quite a few drinks, the world became less anxious and a little more relaxed.

"Oh." Laura said. She had stopped fighting her body, one hangnail at a time. Rudy slammed a plate on the counter, dinged a bell, and went to take something for his back. Matilda, mouth now horribly dry and jaw nearly broken, hustled back to the table.

"Here. Here you are Jesus. Here you are, son of God." She put the club in front of him. He slid the plate across the table to his new companion. "Holy, holy, Lord god all mighty."

"Thanks."

"Worthy lamb."

"Thank you."

"King of kings."

"Wow, thank you." Jesus was bored.

"Uhuh, yes, sure, sure, sure, sure."

Matilda stood there, never looking from the man who had once bore her sins. She now had a face to thank for the time she watched hours of video on the dark web.

"Could we get a coffee as well?" Jesus pleaded "Thaaaaankssss."

"Of course." Matilda went to make herself useful behind the counter.

Laura felt underdressed, somehow. Jesus was certainly overdress, but it didn't make her feel any less foolish to be in public like this, sensible grey t-shirt, sensible jeans, sensible keds.

"So, Laura, what made you come to me." Jesus asked. "What made you need to find me so badly that you came through a thicket of woods to see me.

Laura grabbed the sandwich. She took a large bite, contemplating the question.

"I mean, there must be SOME reason,"

This was the best thing Laura had ever tasted.

"That you would decide to follow a stranger,"

Oh my god, is what heaven tastes like?

"And drive them for hours upon hours at the snap of your fingers."

Big swallow. Laura looked at Jesus. "I guess it was just meant to be."

"Okay, sure, whatever you want," he held up a defensive hand. Laura noticed the wounds on his palm for the first time. She watched each of his gestures. He seemed so much more flamboyant here than he ever did on screen.

Jesus didn't understand why he felt to aggitated by Laura in this instance. He knew it wasn't her fault that California and Oregon were so far apart. In reality, they were side by side, neighbors, but the very bottom of California was such a long way from the very top of Oregon. "Well, gas, needless to say, is on me. As is this dinner. And whatever other things we need on the way." This felt like a bizarre kidnapping, where he offered ransom for his safe deliver what could only be the most serene place in all of America.

Laura scarfed the rest of the delicious sandwich down. Jesus put a large bill on the table, enough to cover the unmade coffee, the sandwich, and the rest of the trauma he caused in that place stuck in time. He looked down the bridge of his nose, just above his gucci frames. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to split before anyone gets the nerve to ask for a selfie."

Wiping her fingers time and time again on the napkins, Laura began to rise to excite. Matilda, noticing Jesus hurry out the door, stopped the boiling water from hissing out the machine and went to run after them. Jesus waved her off and thanked her several times.

Picking up the pace they made it back to the car, unscathed, unmarked, and making the world a little more fabulous in their footsteps. Laura wondered what this meant for her future. She was scared this would be the highlight of her life, and that Jesus would just forget about her as quickly as he met her.

Bessy rumbled to a start again, hoping the two of them had fun while she took a leak of fluid, basked in the sun set, and counted her remaining miles left running on the planet. Laura didn't see this happening any time soon and continued, chasing after the stars to her next journey.

Jesus began to feel more sympathy than unease to this stranger. He had forgotten at exactly what point he had broken away from the part of himself that loved giving back as much as receiving. It used to feel like a peninsula of him, and now he was totally marooned. Jesus hated being reminded of this, he tried to do as much as humanly possible to let those thoughts escape him. He bought things, he did things, he kept going in circles. The corruption wasn't necessarily all of the media's fault. It seemed like it had much more to do with finite time the earth had left to spin.

"Maybe I'll just retire." He sighed, looking out the window. The branches the car was passing looked like thousands of monsters, reaching towards the car. He was running out of steam and reason to keep him going. He didn't like hosting the show, he just felt like he had to. When all the other televangelists started to make more noise in the press than he did, he had to do something to get attention. Now he wanted none of it. He knew there was an inevitable fight with everyone at the station, everyone online, everyone. Lots of prayers to answer.

Laura snickered at the thought. "Yeah, maybe I will too." Laura had of course always been thinking about quitting her job, since the very day she was legally able to work. Nothing seemed to suit her, but she seemed to suit everything that just needed a body with common sense. She was a cog that seemed to fit every machine, looping endlessly in meaningless circles. Living in a big city was hard for her. All her friends had big aspirations to make it big and make something of themselves, some day. She didn't know what she wanted to do. She had no hobbies, no talents, and no calling. Laura was stuck in mediocrity.

"You might as well. It sounds like you already are." Jesus pushed his hair behind his ear. "Everyone needs something to do until they get to do nothing. It sounds like you're doing nothing already."

Laura was offended by Jesus' remarks. He was nothing at all like the stories told about him, and if it weren't for the marks on his hands, she wouldn't think he was real. She was beginning to regret every trying to meet him in the first place. Being the pushover she was, she began to count how many hours until Tillamook. They were only halfway there.

Jesus sensed that she was off put by his feedback. Had he spent too much time watching gossipy TV shows? Had he forgotten what normal humans were supposed to act like. He just wanted to tell his truth. Maybe that didn't have to be so blunt.

"What you need," he began again and Laura could feel her eyes getting ready to roll "is a miracle. A break from you dull life." She hated to say it, but he was right. It wasn't a new revelation, she had been meaning to use her vacation days before they ran out. "I mean, isn't that why you came to see me? Isn't that why you came to the show? We only tape on weekdays, so you much have gotten the day off."

Laura used the steering wheel to crack her knuckles. She began to feel herself get tired, whether it was the monotonous drive, or the surface level conversation.

"You know," Jesus began again, "I'm not psychic, like I can't read your mind or whatever, but your face pretty much gives it all away. I'm just trying to help. It's what I do."

"Is it? Is that what you were doing at the diner? I didn't realize that pimping something out and helping were synonymous." Jesus fell silent. Laura felt shitty. "Sorry, I'm tired and I just hate driving."

"Here, pull into this place."

Under the blanket of the night was a buzzing motel sign. "It says 'No Vacancy'" Laura said. The row of one story rooms were a bright teal that many had forgotten in the 80s. It was place, again, in a too convenient way on the road. Laura pulled into the only empty spot available and let Bessy sleep for the night. Fiddling through his purse, Jesus finally happened upon a keychain with many rings that sparkled and jingled and bounced. It sounded like a janitor's wet-vac dream. On it was only one key.

Jesus paraded out of the car, put his key in the door, and it popped open like a cresant roll can. That was it. No check ins. Yes Vacancy.

The room inside had no lobster tank, no caviar, nothing like that. It was your essential motel. Tube TV. Two double beds. Sink outside of the bathroom. Leak inside the bathroom. A never ending and untraceable dripping sound. "How is this?" Jesus asked. It wasn't fish or bread or anything.

"Yeah, this will… work." Laura was still getting used to small miracles like this. Jesus went to the small, dingy sink, flipped the lights of the vanity mirror on. Placed by the coffee maker were two small cups. He filled them both with water, and then gave his guest a glass of merlot.

"I'm sorry you're so tense." Jesus said. Immediately the tension drained out every pore in Laura. She felt more at ease than she had since childhood. If anyone had pushed her, she probably would have collapsed to the floor. Is this how forgiveness works?

Laura knew in her heart that this strange man wouldn't do anything funny. He had surprised her in a lot of ways, but she could be sure that he was not even remotely interested in making a pass at her. She took the cup, but didn't drink from it yet.

"Thank you." She said. She still didn't completely trust him.

Jesus smiled and nodded. She hated that he could see through her. Jesus kicked off his slippers, bounced into bed, and flicked on the TV. An old jeopardy show was on. Everything in this room felt antiquated and reminded Laura of a collage of her childhood. Even the mildew smell was specific to one family vacation, and she could swear she had seen the very same lamp time and time before at other motels with no individual identities.

Jesus took a sip and slid open the bedside table. There was a bible cradled by the particle board drawer. He dipped his pinky into his wine and wrote on the front page "Jesus H. Christ."

"Let's see how long until someone reads this copy." He smiled at her and slid the book back into the drawer. "They always go for a fortune."

Laura smiled politely and took a sip of wine. In any other climate, she had expected Jesus and her to become fast friends, but this felt a bit awkward still. It came with the whole creator of the universe status.

Jesus popped over to the bathroom, took off his jacket with a shake. The two fairies slid out and quickly flew to different spots of the room to hide. After racking his priceless fur, he slid each arm into the terrycloth bathrobe provided by the hotel. On the breast pocket it said "Economy Inn".

Jesus turned to the mirror. "Ugh, I look like my father." He took out the shaving cream and covered his whiskers. He leered at Laura, and she laughed, relaxing even more. Jesus began to scrape away his old identity.

"Can I ask you something?" Laura said.

"Sure." Little puffs of fuzz plopped into the sink.

"Well, why are you… I mean… You act nothing like you lead on on the tv, in the books. You're very… contemporary. I thought you would have been a bit more stuffy."

Jesus chuckled. "That's not really a question."

"No, I guess it isn't."

"Well. I'm not really sure. I haven't always been like this. I used to be more like the person I'm portrayed as on the screen. I guess as the times change, I do too. But everyone wants my message to stay the same."

"Oh."

"I guess that's also something that bothers me a lot. Everyone always quotes parts of the bible, using it to fight one another. 'This is why Jesus sucks,'" Jesus imitated many voices "'No, this is why you suck and Jesus is awesome,' 'No you suck' 'Blah blah blah.'" The left side of his face was now bare and bleeding from the cheap blades of the motel's razor. He turned his cheek. "You know, I didn't even write the stupid thing. Everyone twisted everything I said and meant. It's not even the holy bible anymore, it's the people's bible."

Laura starred wide eyed at him. She couldn't believe he was shaving. She couldn't believe the hearsay he was saying. She couldn't believe the hearsay she believed until this point. She didn't even know if she believed in this man anymore.

"Huh." She laughed out. "I… I think that everything I know is a lie." She shook her head.

"Yeah, maybe. Maybe not." The other half of the beard was gone. Jesus was clean shaven. Baby-face Jesus went to his purse and swatted his hand around in it, like he was testing how hot the water was. Retrieving a pair of sewing scissors, he walked out to Lauren and presented them to her.

Buzz audibly gasped. Beez chuckled.

"It's going to take forever, but I will need your help in the back. Take it tiny clumps at a time."

"What?"

"Will you cut my hair?"

"What?"

"Will you please cut my hair?"

"Won't you lose your powers or something?"

"Let's see."

Laura remembered the waitress at the restaurant and then closed her mouth that she didn't realize was open. Taking that as a que, Jesus sat on the floor at the foot of the bed, watching the grainy screen of the vintage tv.

She grabbed the scissors and with a furrowed brow, began to chop away. Jesus, needless to say, was a very handsome man with chiseled cheekbones and deerlike eyes. He didn't look like he was holy. He looked unassuming. If you passed him, you would just think he was any other guy. Strand after strand fell onto the robe.

"Largest ball of twine." Jesus called to the TV. Two of the letters had been filled in.

Laura began to smile. "You know, it's no fun if you can predict the answers."

"I'm not predicting the answers."

"Really?"

"Really." More glossy brown threads fell, hitting the floor and tanned skin of the god in front of her. "I've just seen this episode before."

Laura laughed. "Oh, so that's different?" Jesus laughed too.

"No, but at least I'm not really completely cheating." Laura fought against the weight of her eyelids. Most of the hair was done. "I can finish the rest myself," Jesus said. "You already got all the back parts."

Laura mumbled okay and tucked herself in. She turned to heard side and immediately heard birds chirping.

What? She thought, Did I even fall asleep?

She opened her eyes. She wasn't as tired as she had been when she first laid down. The sun was trying to break in through the blinds. Everything suggested that she had slept, and yet it felt like time hadn't past and she had only shut her eyes.

The red veins of the digital clock announced that it was 8:22 am. She had wished that she had dreamed at least. She was very good at dreaming.


End file.
